Absaroka Nights
by ThinkingBeforeTalking
Summary: Food you eat with a fork and spoon.


"Gotta admit Omar has a nice truck ... What's this do?"

"There are rules about a man's truck, you don't get to spin the wheels if you're not buyin'." I pried her busy fingers off the dash.

"I promised Omar he'd get his truck back in one piece. That includes not messin' with the radio."

"Ugh ... Fine ..." She slumped back into her seat and moved on to the other topic of interest.

"So let me get this straight ... you're saying that the husband, Remi is sleeping with the help, Gina, who also happens to be keeping company with Remi junior. Meanwhile, the young and lovely third wife, Lucy, is cajoling in the carnal sense, with Louis, the husband's brother, junior AND Sammy the pool guy?"

"Yep, sounds about right."

Confirming her disbelief for the third time. Why were these people in my county? I yearned for simpler times when people just shot each other on Main Street.

"Any more complicated and I was going need a diagram. I see why you don't watch TV, you've got your very own smutty Absaroka Nights boom chicka wow wow soap opera going on."

Maybe I should have let her play with the radio. Thankfully, there was a moment of quiet before the inevitable observation.

"Soooo Henry and Deena, on a date right here at this fancy restaurant ... hmmm ... Something "normal" people do ..." Muttering as she stared out the window. Oh dear, air quotes on normal, I'm sure that wasn't a good sign.

I tried my best to ignore the obvious verbal jab aimed squarely at my negligence. I had failed to ask Vic on a date, despite having had meals together in various settings - albeit with other people, we had never actually been on a date. I suspect she saw this oversight as a lack of forward momentum between us. I still wasn't quite sure what to make of 'us'.

"Henry's late." I had enlisted his help when he mentioned that he and Deena would be dining at the same restaurant as our suspect.

"Henry is not late." A familiar voice ambled by the driver's seat window.

"Hi, Henry."

"Walt, here is the information you wanted." Handing me a note.

"Thanks, Henry."

"You should thank Deena, she is the one who managed to cosy up to Junior."

"No problem. Is that before or after I give back your checkbook?" Henry had asked me to keep as many money dispensing possibilities out of his reach while Deena was in town.

"You have become rather cynical in your advanced age."

"Guys, I would love to hear more about the delightfully cranky Adventures of Walt and Henry, but our suspect is getting away."

Vic pointed to the red mustang leaving the restaurant.

We drove for about an hour until Junior finally reached his destination. It seemed like a somewhat drab setting for a brothel. The basement of a noisy warehouse with darkened windows hidden from public view. We followed him into the dark alley on foot.

Junior and family were in the people import export business otherwise known as people trafficking. All signs pointed to an illegal brothel that moved often, randomly and without notice. Apparently, Junior was the only one with the hour by hour location of their business.

"Ok so what's the plan? We bust in there guns blazing?"

"It's a brothel, I don't believe the clientele will be heavily armed."

"Not with guns anyway." She smirked and jammed me in the solar plexus.

We cut the chain locking the door, which reminded me that I should really learn how to pick a lock. "Sheriff's departt ... mmment ..." The scene before us was not one we expected.

"Um ... I don't have much experience with brothels but i'm preeeetty sure this isn't one."

We were looking at rows and rows of sewing equipment and fabric loaded on various trucks. A mobile sweatshop. In Wyoming? The din of machinery dampened our entrance, we went unnoticed by the mostly underaged illegal workforce.

"Better call Ferg and Branch over here, it's going to be a long day."

.

.

It took a full day and then some, to process everyone at the scene. By the time we got back to the office the others had finished and left for the day. It was just the two of us finishing up the paperwork.

"A mobile sweatshop, kinda clever really. But Wyoming ...?"

"You say that like nothing ever happens here?"

Sometimes, I do wonder why she stayed after the divorce. Vic could have made senior detective by now in any big city police department.

"So when junior gave Deena the mobile shop address, he thought she was after cheap designer knock offs?"

"Yep. Go Deena."

"Anyway, I'm almost finished ... Could you wait for me before you lock up?"

"Yep."

"Um, So I've been thinking ..."

"When did you stop?" She didn't look up from filling out the last details of the case file.

I tried to ignore her interruption or the best of me would try to escape and retreat out the door.

"I um ... I uh ... was wonderin' ... if you're hungry maybe we could go grab a bite to eat? I'm buyin' ..." I thought my voice might have cracked a little. She turned to look at me, pausing for a moment to consider my question.

"Are you asking me out on a date? An actual date with just the two of us? Where the meal doesn't come out of a drive through window? Like with tables and food you eat with a fork and spoon?"

"Maybe even with a steak knife you never know heh..."

Cringing internally at my remark. I avoided eye contact and continued playing with the rim of my hat, looking at my feet, shifting my weight from side to side. She was going to make me suffer.

"Um, I mean ... only if you want to ... Uh, you seem hungry so... If you've got other plans it's uh ..."

"The answer is yes, and you might want to turn down the Longmire charm a notch, it's ruining the moment. Let's go I'm starving!"

She grabbed her jacket and looped her arm into mine doing double time out the door.

"I thought you had to finish the report?"

"It'll keep till tomorrow. I don't want you changing your mind."

Her smile was infectious.


End file.
